As the blazing sun gradually shifted westward, wind stirred the waves, and rolling surf blended with the jeering clamor of spectators by the rail, forming this superyacht's afternoon symphony.
Tap tap.
Koko Hekmatyar hurried along the side passageway, her steps light, carrying the delight of getting her wish.
"Hehehe, sprint, sprint! If we're late, we won't catch the good show!" the silver-haired, blue-eyed girl shouted in an exaggerated tone.
"Okay, okay," replied the white old man Lehm, cigarette dangling from his lips.
"Honestly, why is Koko so attached to Vela? Ugh! I'm so jealous! Is there some secret? I really want to ask for advice." Valmet watched Koko's back, cheeks slightly flushed, biting her lip.
"Uh, maybe… distance makes beauty," the honest Mao said hesitantly.
The black man Wiley and the burly Ugo exchanged glances and let out a few dry laughs.
Just then.
Boom, boom! Two explosions cut off the HCLI group's wandering thoughts.
Teasing and astonished shouts followed immediately.
"There's fun to watch?!" Koko's eyes lit up, and she quickened her pace.
This competition of military tactics and techniques had already begun, and the atmosphere was heated.
The side passageway was packed with onlookers who had rushed over to join the excitement. The crowd loosely surrounded a blonde beauty in the front row who was happily skewering meat and drinking. On both sides, they formed an uneven human wall—armed yet holding food and drinks, clad in armor and helmets yet wearing floral beach shorts.
Aside from the smell of gunpowder, the air was thick with the aroma of grilled fat and various spices.
The spectators were enthusiastically discussing.
"Haha, that guy Fern lost." Someone slapped the railing and laughed loudly.
"Shit! That fat bastard Fern made me lose fifteen bucks." Someone cursed.
"All flash and no substance, Fern. But that woman from Lagoon really has bite. What unit did she retire from? Or which gang trained her?" Someone holding a bottle of light beer commented while looking around.
...
Voices overlapped in lively chatter.
Under the subtle scrutiny of several well-toned female mercenaries in light sportswear, sweat glistening on their foreheads—clearly just out of the yacht's gym or gymnastics hall, most likely drawn by the commotion outside—Koko squeezed her way forward.
The girl looked left, then right. After flashing a sweet smile toward Nova, who was behind the workbench tearing open foil and slicing American smoked beef ribs, she brushed her hair back lightly and sat down beside Vela with ease, opening her mouth to speak. "Hey, why are you fighting the people Big Sis Balalaika brought? Isn't that bullying honest folks?" She blinked her bright eyes, wearing an expression that clearly said, Why didn't you call me when you were scamming someone?
"Don't talk nonsense." Setting down the bamboo skewer in her hand, Vela tossed a bottle of ramune soda over without turning her head. "She chose it. I just went along with it."
"Besides, there's a show to watch. Isn't it good for killing time?"
"True. Huh? Japanese product, sugar-free zero-calorie? A shoujo manga collaboration edition? Ninety-nine percent new, rare stuff. New product?" Koko glanced at the bottle. Without ceremony, she pressed down the cap to drop the marble and began drinking in gulps.
"Mm. I saved it specially for you." Putting a grilled taco into her mouth, Vela spoke unhurriedly.
"Specially?" Smacking her lips, Koko tilted her head in confusion.
Then she suddenly leaned forward, cupping her cheeks with both hands and revealing a flawless expression of being moved. "Even though it tastes no different, Vela, why is it sugar-free zero-calorie? Could it be… Wow, I'm so touched. Not only paying attention to the 'no alcohol for minors' rule, but also considering my physical health and development? This is really…" Her tone grew increasingly coquettish toward the end.
She made as if to pounce onto Vela.
Faced with the exaggerated words and gestures, Vela said nothing, simply bringing down a hand chop.
Bonk!
"Ow." Koko covered her forehead and cried out in pain.
"What are you thinking?" Vela shot her a sidelong glance. "It's purely because your alcohol tolerance is terrible. Touch booze and you're drunk. Get drunk and you go crazy. You're bad at it, yet you insist on knowingly offending again and again. I have no interest in accompanying you in another strip-clothes-style free-for-all brawl."
"And 'no alcohol for minors'? Which country's law-abiding citizen are you?"
"Hehe." Koko stuck out her tongue, pretending not to hear.
After all, she had been born on a cargo ship, drifting around the world for years, often claiming she had no nationality or homeland.
Things like the "Drinking Age Act" couldn't restrain her. For such trivial matters, no country would bother. Even if she someday flipped and got caught for sentencing, it wouldn't weigh half a tael.
Koko swiftly changed the subject. "I heard that when you were living in Tokyo, you invested in several companies? Including the food company that produces this soda?" As she spoke, she shook the glass bottle in her hand.
Vela did not pursue the teasing. She handed over a pair of disposable gloves and replied, "They were too enthusiastic to refuse. Back in 1990–91, when I was looking for low-cost suppliers, I owed them a favor. Now that I've made it, they keep sending gifts. Acting as an angel investor isn't a problem. It's just human relations."
Koko nodded thoughtfully.
"Speaking of investment, over the years you've invested in quite a few high-tech industries in Silicon Valley—"
Before she finished speaking—
Boom, boom!
Two more explosions, water splashing upward.
"So, looking for investment?" Vela took a calm sip of chilled pale beer, glancing toward the detachable floating platform connected to the hull.
"Yes." Koko followed her gaze.
On the floating platform, a fierce-looking woman was shouting at a broad, heavyset man.
Trading trash talk? Those two should be the betting contestants. A mercenary nearby still held a grenade, so the previous two rounds of explosions must have been the grenade-throwing competition. Also standing near the connection point were a strong black man, a blond engineering-type white man, and a Japanese salaryman-looking guy. The salaryman seemed to be shouting, trying to mediate. Mm, the four of them should be Lagoon.
"Your guy seems to have lost?" Koko turned to look at Vela, who remained completely at ease.
"Small money."
As Nova placed the platter of sliced smoked beef ribs and side dishes onto the folding low table, Vela put on disposable gloves, thanked Nova, and waved her hand dismissively.
"Alright then." If you don't care about losing money, what can I say? Koko shrugged, put on gloves as well, grabbed a small rib, stuffed it into her mouth, and asked indistinctly while chewing, "What have they competed in?"
"Handgun twenty-five-meter target, bare rifle moving targets at twenty-five, fifty, and one hundred meters. Fast reload and rapid fire. It's currently four to two…" Vela pointed at the orange floating target being towed back by the speedboat beside the platform.
In short, Revy versus Fern. The former was a wild-style, pure talent-type competitor. The latter was academy-trained, a special forces soldier cultivated step by step.
Revy won the handgun twenty-five-meter target, rifle twenty-five-meter target, and fast reload and rapid fire.
Fern won the rifle fifty-meter and one-hundred-meter targets.
In the previous combined event, best two out of three, Revy had also taken victory.
Hearing this, Koko was quite surprised. What background did that hot-headed big sis have?
Aside from the mid-range moving targets at sea, which tested professionalism and training more, that woman had almost completely dominated. Judging by the target reports, she was both fast and accurate. Her rifle fifty- and one-hundred-meter accuracy was only slightly inferior. She even won in the combined event, which tested strength more heavily.
Even if Vela's team belonged to a large conglomerate and wasn't as small and elite as hers, it certainly wasn't open to just anyone.
That Fern, from FAST (U.S. Marine Corps Fleet Anti-Terrorism Security Team), might not be top-tier, but he was definitely not weak.
"Which unit is she from?" Koko couldn't help asking, intrigued.
"Her? Revy? She's not a soldier, nor a cop."
The one answering was not Vela.
Tap, clack.
Heels struck the deck.
A tall figure stepped out from the crowd. Double-breasted dark red OL suit, fire-scarred face.
It was Balalaika.
After greeting Koko and Nova, she walked to Vela's side and looked into the distance. On the floating platform, after finishing a single event and finishing their shouting match, Revy and Fern began warming up for swimming.
Vela tossed over a can of cold beer.
Balalaika caught it, popped the tab, took a long gulp, then looked at Koko. "You want to recruit her?"
"More or less."
Koko nodded. "Is there a problem?"
"No." Leaning against the railing, Balalaika exhaled lightly. "That one's potential is unquestionable. But her temper is foul and violent, and she likes opportunism. She's also carrying dual warrants from the FBI and NYPD's 27th Precinct. Though considering her utterly miserable past, it's not surprising she turned out like this."
"Compared to that, Vela, if you were to recruit her—"
"I already have someone in mind." Having Nova wipe her mouth with a napkin, Vela shook her head like a landed gentry. "Her situation doesn't fit my needs."
"How so?" Balalaika showed interest.
"Head maid."
"Cough! Cough cough!"
So annoying. Being left aside, Koko forced a polite smile and interjected somewhat indignantly. "Why can't I?"
"Because that one is a realistic violent pragmatist." Balalaika replied with a smile. "Most importantly, you're still a minor." Translation: You're weak. You can't beat her. You can't be the boss.
"Hmph!" Pouting, Koko sat down gloomily, grabbed a grilled rib, and buried her head in chewing as if venting frustration.
"Ah, Koko, actually smaller is cuter…" Valmet comforted from the side.
Using her clean free hand to pat Koko's back, Vela and Balalaika exchanged a smile, clinked cans, and took a big drink.
"What head maid? Elaborate," Balalaika asked again.
"The Hound of Florence," Vela replied.
"Oh?" Balalaika raised a brow, her gaze deep. Picking up a taco, she bit into it and chewed. "That ace killer from FARC (Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia)? You found her after she retired?"
"Once the 'goods' are in hand, she'll come to me herself."
"Goods?"
"The young master of the Labres family."
"One of the thirteen South American crime families? You kidnapped him?" Balalaika narrowed her eyes, smiling without warmth. The remnants of military moral bottom lines after her faith's collapse made her particularly resistant to harming children.
"More precisely, I intercepted." Vela smiled back.
"According to my Venezuela branch head's report, the declining Labres family recently ran into trouble. A cartel set its sights on the rare earth deposits buried beneath their farm, intending to kill two birds with one stone by purchasing it and using it for drug cultivation. But the current patriarch, Diego José San Fernando Labres, refused cooperation, leading to the young master being kidnapped and sent to Roanapur.
"Then, I made my move."
Snap! Vela snapped her fingers, lifting her chin proudly. "Before coming here, I dispatched a team to Jakarta to receive them. Calculating the time, the 'goods' will arrive tonight."
"So that 'Hound of Florence' has been hiding in the Labres family as a maid all these years?" Based on the information Vela revealed, Balalaika roughly pieced together the cause and effect. "And you rescue the young master, draw out the Hound, use the favor as leverage to make a deal, and incorporate her into your team?"
"You're that certain she'll surrender and be trustworthy?"
"You'll know when the time comes." After saying this, Vela smiled without further explanation.
Balalaika seemed to understand somewhat but still felt some issues remained unclear. She wanted to ask Vela about her basis for judging trustworthiness after recruitment, but remembering that involved internal channels of VAR's South America branch, she held back. "I wish you success."
Vela smiled and clinked cans with her, leisurely finishing the chilled beer.
How to determine trustworthiness.
In Vela's early days of struggle, this had truly been a difficult problem, exhausting to ponder. How to start a business, how to recruit. You might possess grand strategy and knowledge of the future, but who would you use to execute it? Could you tell man from ghost?
Even with considerable family resources and connections as a safety net, she still had to continuously trial, err, and learn.
Regrettably—
The awakening of the Divine Gift.
The rich struggle experience of the many "her selves" and their encounters with countless people and events filled her shortcomings.
Especially those few "big sisters" in high positions, with black technology and unique specialties, even supernatural abilities. Their generous conditions made her lose the meaning of work. Unprecedented leisure made her lose the courage to strive. After the "Council of Vela" resolution, the ordinary her, with no black technology nor supernatural phenomena or specialties, retired on the spot and received an unlimited lifetime travel consumption voucher.
From then on, work said goodbye, the grind button was removed, and entrepreneurship turned into child's play.
Sisters grind. I enjoy the blessings.
The carefree life left her breathless.
Sigh.
Fun isn't easy. Vela sighed.
However, even salted fish can flip over. Besides dedicating herself to alleviating her sisters' fatigue and negative emotions as her main duty, she still needed to find some side work.
For example, providing excellent genetic templates for the "big sisters'" gene ascension project.
"Roberta." Silently uttering the name, a crystalline blue Geass glow flickered in Vela's eyes and vanished.
In a world without cybernetic augmentation technology, without super bioweapons viruses, without extraordinary powers—on a timeline before bodybuilding competitions pushed drugs to extreme bodily limits—a human woman who, purely through training, could lift an adult man with one hand, crush a beer glass by squeezing its handle, possess superhuman endurance and willpower, absurd movement speed, and maintain her physique even after retirement and seclusion.
Veteran of countless battles yet without any injuries, no signs of premature aging.
The excellence of her genes was beyond doubt.
[Cyber Tyrant ♀] bodyguard project, biovirus byproduct research, gene-based rejuvenation new drugs…
"Hah." Vela stood up and looked toward the floating platform.
Beep! Along with the whistle, Revy and Fern, having finished warming up and donned their swim gear, plunged into the water with a splash. The 1500-meter freestyle began. A rescue staff member rode alongside on a speedboat, and another speedboat at the finish flashed signal lights.
But Vela's thoughts had already drifted far away.
—
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